The Greater Circle
by Sorka Returns
Summary: NEW CHAPTER UP! The four mages, having returned to Winding Circle, aid Vedris in battling a greedy mage, a raider King...and his eldest son. An epic which rather gratuitously focuses on Rosethorn and nemisis Crane. Comment, I beg!
1. Homecoming and a Vision

Briar knew he was home. That two girls had been yammering in his head for days was enough to let him know he was almost there. He had even just given the girls yet another reassurance that he was, in fact, at the well-known crossroads that led to Emelan—and Winding Circle.  
  
He urged Chumpy forward as two figures appeared in the distance. One girl, a dark-skinned Trader in breeches and tunic, halted a few cautious lengths in front of the horse. _He ain't gonna bite you, Daj_, Briar told her, a wicked grin beginning to spread on his tanned face.  
  
Daja was obviously not amused. _Why do I not believe you_, she retorted silently as she exchanged guarded glances with the tall, scarred beast. Sidling closer, her eyes moved from the horse to Briar. "Welcome back," she said aloud, for the sake of the green-clad dedicate at her side.  
  
"In time for the Midsummer festivities," the dedicate said, smiling. Lark fearlessly petted Chumpy, who whinnied like a fresh foal under the woman's hands. "Charming animal," she remarked, before turning to the figure emerging from a nearby covered wagon.  
  
The shorter woman brushed clouds of brownish dust from her robes. "Charming like a rabid wolf." Rosethorn glared at Chumpy before hugging Lark and greeting Daja. "Where's the others?"  
  
Daja laughed. "There's another coming." Everyone's gaze turned to the direction her pointed finger indicated: the curiously pink cloud of dust heading from the road to Emelan. Briar groaned and dismounted. "Better get off 'fore that crazy noble jumps onto Chumpy's back. He bites."  
  
"I thought you said he didn't!" Daja backed away from Chumpy carefully, black eyes snapping.  
  
Briar grinned. "He don't always."  
  
"Now you tell me." Sea-bred Daja tolerated only extremely necessary contact with horses. _They're unpredictable animals_, she explained silently. _Ships are more dependable, with winds and steering and currents and all. I mean, just look at that!_ she exclaimed as the blue-eyed noble, Lady Sandrilene, flew off her mount and immediately tripped on her pink flowing split skirts.  
  
Before he could even turn around, Sandry and Little Bear had hit at approximately the same time. "You're finally home!" she shrieked at a seemingly impossible pitch as she jammed her face into his breastbone. Briar gasped as her arms squeezed the last bit of breath from his lungs.  
  
"Lay off, Duchess, you're crunching my bones!" She released him with a withering glare, only to jump right back on seconds later, with Little Bear happily nipping at the boy's ankles.  
  
After what seemed like hours of squeals of glee and barking and joyful dog slobber, the little group finally noticed the wagon driver's impatience and the dust that was slowly creeping into everyone's clothes.  
  
"Shall we?" Rosethorn said, her harsh voice almost wistful. "I'm rather glad to be home, and this definitely isn't it." She kicked at the dust with one sandaled foot, only to raise more thick drifts into the hot summer air.  
  
Lark linked arms with both earth mages and turned to the wagon. "Just a little bit further," she explained to the surly driver, as the five of them- Briar leading Chumpy- began to walk down Temple Road toward Winding Circle's outer walls.  
  
  
  
"By the way," Lark began as they moved towards Discipline, "things aren't exactly the same inside. Briar, I believe your room has been left mostly untouched, but Sandry and Daja have been relocated to the attic for the time being." "Is Comas still with you?" Sandry asked. The shy novice had eventually taken both to the cottage and to Lark. Not that anyone couldn't like Lark, she thought.  
  
"He's at the Water Temple right now, learning the finer arts of applying bandages to real people, and also attempting to integrate back into novice quarters." Lark smiled. "He's doing quite nicely, I must say."  
  
Sandry frowned slightly as she pinned one sun-streaked braid back into its place in the complicated twist of her hair. "I hope we don't scare Comas away. Sometimes he even speaks to me, but not often. All of us arriving in a horde might make him uncomfortable." _Also, he hasn't met Rosethorn yet._  
  
_And if he's shy with you, then Rosethorn's welcome-to-my-garden-touch-it- and-die-painfully speech might not go over so well,_ Briar added.  
  
"Since he's still technically a Discipline resident, his stuff's still in place in your old room," Daja told Sandry. "So we set up cots in the attic, unless you want to move in on Tris. She'll be here in a week or so, though Niko sent Little Bear on ahead months ago."  
  
"Bet Bear here was a real fan of the scholarly chuffs," Briar remarked dryly as he tied Chumpy at Discipline's gate, tugging at the knots to check their strength.  
  
"I'm sure he made quite an impression," a dry voice added as Briar jumped. Crane emerged from where he had been silently standing, hidden in the overgrown greenery near Discipline's fence.  
  
"Stalker," muttered Rosethorn, though she couldn't seem to keep from smiling cruelly at both her student's discomfiture and Crane's obvious dislike of the energetic dog.  
  
Crane glanced at her coolly. "I prefer to call this a clever ambush. Welcome home."  
  
_She hasn't killed him yet._ Sandry looked absolutely scandalized.  
  
_Maybe she's too glad to be home?_ Briar replied, though he too was bewildered at the sight of his teacher and her sometimes-enemy amicably shaking hands and blandly chatting. _Even Lark looks a bit pale.  
_  
_I think I'm a bit pale,_ Daja added, as the lanky Air dedicate carefully skirted Chumpy's leg range after polite goodbyes. _She hasn't even mauled him or cut off his thumbs or-_  
  
-_Threatened to hang him upside down in the well,_ Sandry finished in unison. _Maybe she's mellowing with age?  
_  
_I definitely think not._ Briar said regretfully. _She ain't stopped biting my head off, at least.  
_  
Rosethorn, finished with her pleasantries, turned back to the group to find all four mages staring at her, gaping. "What," she said irritably as her hands flew to her hips, "is the matter with the lot of you?"  
  
"Nothing," Lark murmured, smiling, as the children averted their eyes hastily. "Nothing at all." Rosethorn pursed her lips out of anticipation; she knew Lark far too well to expect silence on the matter. "But I must say, Rosie, that you were almost- actually, extremely- civil to that man you often called unrepeatable names, and to his face."  
  
Briar grimaced. "And I must say –"  
  
"You must say nothing, boy," Rosethorn interrupted. "Absolutely nothing. Now if we return to the task at hand?"  
  
Lark coughed gently, not quite disguising a laugh. "Certainly." Rosethorn gave her friend an impressive glare.  
  
"Maybe we should drag down the extra pallets from the attic and put an extra in Briar's room," Sandry suggested in a mild tone of voice before the silence became too tense. "I'm sure Niko would rather stay here than at the Water temple dormitory, he had quite a few things to say about their organization."  
  
"I'm afraid Daja's room has sustained some slight water damage," Lark admitted. "When I can actually get someone to come down here and fix the leaks and perhaps strengthen the walls, we'll have three working bedrooms. But for now, we can probably fit an extra mattress in my workroom, and maybe a couple in Rosie's, if we can air out the mustiness this afternoon."  
  
"I've heard there's been something happening at the Hub lately. A meeting has been called tonight, so you three can have some time to rest and talk at Discipline while we're gone. Don't get into any trouble."  
  
  
  
Rosethorn reiterated her warning before she, Lark, Frostpine, and many other powerful Dedicates began to congregate outside the Hub. "No messy business," she warned.  
  
"Yes, Rosethorn," they chorused grudgingly. _Like we're kids_, Briar grumbled.  
  
"Rosie, they're not ten anymore," Lark said, giving the three a rather significant warning look. "In fact, they're fifteen."  
  
"Very nearly almost sixteen," Daja murmured rebelliously. The calmer dedicate, much amused, firmly led Rosethorn away by the arm toward the main entrance.  
  
"I know what that Look meant," Sandry said with a sigh. "She backed us up against Rosethorn, so we had better not get in trouble."  
  
"Otherwise?" Briar asked, raising one eyebrow.  
  
"There is no otherwise." Daja said, as they walked onto the path leading back to Discipline. "Lark's nice, but I'm still quite sure that we don't want to know her otherwise."  
  
Later, ensconced comfortably on the roof's thatching, they managed to contact an extremely grumpy, tousled, dusty Tris, who had opted to riding in a crowded wagon instead of upon a mount. _I didn't know what would be worse: getting thrown off a horse repeatedly, or being bumped by trunks and listening to Niko constantly muttering incoherently both to himself and to his contact stone. I chose Niko, and look where it's got me. I can't even read, it's so loud in here.  
_  
_He on to something?_ Briar asked. The far-seeing mage that had discovered the hidden talents in all four young students always seemed to be investigating some semi-plausible vision. He peeled a bit of Sandry's loose hair out of his mouth, pretending to gag as the girl took the lock from him with a scathing look.  
  
Tris sighed. _If they called a meeting in Winding Circle, then he most likely has. I think the other owner of the specific contact stone he's been using is Dedicate Moonstream. I think. His mighty Mageness hasn't let me listen, and he even went so far as to set up some irritating, noisy counterspell around his sitting area.  
_  
_They have called a meeting, and at the Hub,_ Daja told her grimly. _Does it look like something important?  
_  
_He hasn't been thinking of anything else. I have to feed him occasionally, because he forgets, and he hasn't even noticed all the dust- and he's always so persnickety about being clean. Besides, he wouldn't be so frantic if it wasn't something big.  
_  
The three others could feel Sandry's presence tremble. _Big, like five years ago big?_  
  
_I hope not._ Daja shuddered, remembering the earthquake, pirates, and plague. _Don't you think Winding Circle has had enough problems?  
_  
_He's coming out of his spells,_ Tris said rapidly. _I'm going to bug him again. I'll let you know if he tells me anything. Rest up just in case can't wait to see you all now bye  
_  
And with that, Tris slammed their mental connection apart. The three, alone on the roof again, looked at each other with concern.  
  
"Well, I guess it's not Winding Circle if there isn't problems," Daja concluded regretfully. "I'd better be off to bed. Frostpine is going to teach me to etch protective symbols on wire tomorrow, so I can't let my eyes be tired and blurry."  
  
"Uncle's riding in to speak with Moonstream about whatever happens tonight, and also to get his hands on her half of Niko's speakstone." A small dimple appeared in her cheek as she smiled slyly. "You two can meet Yasmin- and Pasco." The Duke's furtive romance with the famous dancer was the city's worst kept secret; the palace guards had been taking bets on Vedris's marriage date for two years, and many city folk had referred to Yasmin as the Duke's Lady several times within Sandry's own earshot.  
  
"Maybe they can help me weed," Briar said glumly. "Rosethorn already gave me tomorrow's orders, and it's weeding. She won't plant the garden unless it's entirely weed free."  
  
Daja turned towards Sandry, pretending to be furious. "You mean," she said, only her smile giving away her ruse, "Briar will be digging in the dirt and I will be picking at wire, whilst you prance around the Duke wearing silks and nibbling sweetmeats?"  
  
"Yes," Sandry replied uneasily, inspecting her fingernails. "But I'll likely be as uncomfortable as the both of you, since Uncle has warned me to wear something fashionably heavy and hot. I wore split skirts to the last meeting I attended with him, and evidently outraged some powerful cousin of Uncle's. Lord Stuffyface's emissary will be riding in the party tomorrow. You'll see them when they ride by to pick me up in the morning."  
  
Briar snorted softly, his lack of respect for stuffy Bags clearly intact. "Maybe I'll get up early and roll around in the mud before they come. Y'know, look respectable and all." Sandry's hair, waving in the slight breeze, began to work itself into the collar of his shirt._ If you can't keep 'em under wraps, I could always shave it for you_, he offered silently. Sandry stuck her tongue out at the boy.  
  
Daja sniffed, unaware of their conversation. "You could have showed them your tattoos, if you hadn't marked up your hands yourself." Briar spread his hands and grinned at the shifting vegetable oil tattoo. "You know, I heard Duke Vedris's son will be there."  
  
"His second son. Lord Tennesal is a lot nicer than that Frantsen." Sandry scowled at the thought of Vedris's pushy, abrasive older son. "Tell you something, though. If you promise not to tell."  
  
"Promise," Daja and Briar answered, rolling their eyes. Not telling was a given among the four.  
  
Sandry leaned closer, her bright blue eyes gleaming. "Uncle's given up on Frantsen, after he received the last set of bills from Estate Renall. Uncle and Lord Erdogun have already drawn up a new will, with Tennesal as heir to Emelan." Daja gaped, her eyes wide. "It's not as if Uncle's ever had any illusions about what Frantsen's rule of the city would be," Sandry said, shrugging. "He just hoped he would grow out of it."  
  
"You can't grow out of being stupid," growled Briar. "Does that Tennesal fellow know what he's up for?"  
  
Sandry shook her head, looking at her lap. "Uncle and Erdo and I will tell him tomorrow." She peeked out from under her mass of loose hair. "Uncle let me sign as a witness," she added wickedly. "It gave some of the servants fits, having a lady do a man's work. I didn't realize only men could sign their names on a piece of paper." She shoved her loose hair back behind her shoulders yet again. "Just because they grow out of me, they think they don't have to behave when I tell them to!" Sandry yelled.  
  
"What's with your hair, anyay?" Daja asked. "You usually don't wear it loose, and for good reason. It's kind of messy." The Trader touched her own long hair, neatly arranged in a series of thin braids.  
  
The noble's posture drooped. Slapping her hair with her hands, both Briar and Daja could see the shimmer of magic attacking the strands until they lay flat again. "When I put my hair up the way the way a young lady should, it has to be free for a while. Otherwise, it moulds itself to the shape it is in braids." Pounding the straw thatching with her fist, Sandry scowled. "I didn't use to mind dressing up for Uncle once in a while, it's just that it's harder now that I'm big and- and –"  
  
"You ain't big yet," Briar said lazily, picking at the hem of her skirt. "You're shorter by more than a head than me or Daj."  
  
"Evidently, big enough," Daja said cryptically. "Ow!" Sandry had pinched the other girl.  
  
"What?" Briar asked.  
  
Daja smiled innocently. "You'll see tomorrow, when all those nobility are dancing around Discipline's front yard, and Sandry dressed up like a doll, in silks fit for a Princess."  
  
By then, Sandry had already lunged at Daja, dragging her both magically and physically off the roof into the hatch. "You promised!" she yelled, her voice muffled by the roofing.  
  
"Just teasing," Briar could hear the Trader answer, "And I did a pretty decent job of it, too, until you started to beat me-"Sandry shrieked something incoherently as Daja laughed hysterically.  
  
"What? What?" Briar called, now alone on the roof. What? The door to Tris's room slammed. He crawled into the attic, but both of the girls were gone; he could hear them muttering away at each other.  
  
Girls, he thought irritably. I'm going to bed, he added, and he did.


	2. Enemies of More than One Kind

AUTHOR'S NOTES:  
  
First of all, I would like to thank my two wonderful readers: Rosethorn, who I DO remember, and Random Person number 3, whose name I love excessively. Not to sound ungrateful, but I hope more people read this soon, because everyone's ego needs to be gratified at some point.  
  
Secondly, I ABSOLUTELY PROMISE I will finish this story. I've left too many hanging to not end this one.  
  
And third. The updates will be slower than I thought, since my chapters are long (my Microsoft Word document counts this one as 7 pages). I realize I could shorten them, and post more often than to increase presence. However, I'd rather have long ones. I apologize for any errors due to italicization, which seems to be a problem for me while proofreading.  
  


Briar awoke the next morning as a horse whuffled past his window. "If you even _try_ to eat my shakkan-"he warned sleepily, before jumping upright. What was a horse doing walking past _his_ room?  
  
He stuck his head out the window and was immediately shushed by a tousled Sandry. "Be quiet, do you want to wake everyone up?" she hissed. "Lark and Rosethorn only just got to sleep. It was, evidently, a very long meeting."  
  
"What's with the horse?"  
  
"Russet," Sandry emphasized, "is my horse. I went to get him from the Fire Temple's stables. Chumpy bit me, by the way, when I tried to give him an apple."  
  
Briar snorted, unrepentant. "Where's your token?" He made a circle with his thumb and fingers, approximately the size of Lark's permission token that they were often forced to carry when traipsing around the temple grounds.  
  
Sandry raised her eyebrows in an expression reminiscent of Lark. "We don't need them anymore, didn't you know? We're guests, not residents." With that, the noble finished tying Russet to the windowsill- Briar's windowsill, he noted with a scowl- and headed toward the privy. "Go back to sleep," she threw over her shoulder, as an afterthought. "You _want_ to miss the excitement this morning, I guarantee it. Sleep. _Now_."  
  
"Telling me to will only make me more awake, you know." Pulling himself back into the room, Briar flopped back down onto his mattress-nest of blankets and pillows, but couldn't go back to sleep. He had forgotten that they were only guests, that someone else lived in Sandry's room, and that the four of them would be in Winding Circle for only two months before, supposedly, continuing their travels with their teachers, who had not divulged any further plans with their students.  
  
And if this isn't my home, his mind demanded, then where was? He thrashed about in bed for a while, then, frustrated, threw his pillow back into the pile and stamped quietly into the kitchen. He filled a pail of water at the well, washing his face and hands in the bucket, and then drained the rest of the cool water into the row of parched snap peas. He wondered who had planted in Rosethorn's absence. Maybe Lark? The traces of magic in the garden were familiar, but not Lark's . . .  
  
"Weeding," he muttered, interrupting his own thoughts. If Rosethorn was still sleeping like Sandry said, he might as well get started instead of daydreaming. And he had just made a mud-mess by pouring water into the dirt he was supposed to strip of weeds. He decided to start with the cabbages instead, which had a particularly aggressive invasion of dandelions.  
  
Briar had gathered the designated bucket and trowel when hoofbeats stopped at the gate. Looking up, he saw Crane slide elegantly off the back of an impressive horse, a gelding as glossy as Sandry's Russet. That Crane ain't riding no nag, Briar thought, impressed despite himself. Bags.  
  
Crane cleared his throat, plainly waiting to be addressed. "Ho, Dedicate Crane," Briar obliged him, somewhat. The Air Dedicate's face hadn't changed, except for maybe a twitch of the mouth.  
  
"Briar Moss." The man really did have a face of iron, Briar thought. Except Crane's brown eyes kept glancing at the growing garden behind Discipline's gate.  
  
A connection clicked inside Briar's brain. "You planted for us, while we were gone." Crane flinched slightly. "She'll mind, you know."  
  
Crane sniffed. "Quite likely. But, interestingly enough, Dedicate Lark permitted me to enter her domain in the first place."  
  
Briar, hesitantly, looked at the nicely growing garden, then back at Crane. "Thank you." Crane smiled slightly, gracefully acknowledging a concession. "Though you could have weeded," Briar said with a slight scowl.  
  
To which Crane only replied airily, "Oh, but Rosethorn always keeps young slaves in the summer." Briar blinked. He hadn't realized Crane had a sense of humor about _anything_. And he had done something extremely nice for Rosethorn. Briar's sense of reality was rapidly disintegrating.  
  
"Briar Moss!" From Crane's tone of voice, Briar could tell his name had been repeated several times.  
  
Crane fixed the boy with a glance. "My visit has a _purpose_," he informed him. "I came to notify Sandrilene that her party will be arriving shortly, and that she best be ready."  
  
"I'll tell her," Briar said, as Crane hesitated at the gate. _Sandry?  
_  
_What._ Her mind voice sounded stressed.  
  
_Crane said to tell you they're coming.  
_  
_I'll be ready,_ she replied, struggling with something. _I'm- almost- in- my- dress!_ She finished her sentence triumphantly. _Just give me a minute to get my shoes._  
  
"She just has to get her shoes," Briar told Crane, who was looking toward the road.  
  
"They're coming. Where's her horse?" snapped Crane. When Briar pointed in the direction of Russet, Crane motioned for Briar to retrieve the mount.  
  
"What for?" Briar protested. He still didn't like it when Crane ordered him around. That was Rosethorn's job.  
  
Crane's eyebrows snapped together in irritation. "It is not suited to her rank that Sandrilene should fetch her own horse," Crane informed him, as a finely dressed gathering rode up to the front of the house. More softly he added, "I don't think you would want to shame your friend in front of her peers."  
  
Briar blushed hotly. He had never quite forgotten that he had been, quite recently in Crane's mind, a street rat. "Of course not!" he snapped, before running toward the back of Discipline. Russet bit at him as he fumbled with the lead, but Briar didn't care. He was just glad to be away from Crane. _How dare he say he knows about my friendship, when he and Rosethorn constantly snip at each other. They used to be friends.  
_  
But there Briar paused. Crane had known he couldn't let Rosethorn come home to an empty garden, and he had done something about it, something that had taken time and sacrifice. If that wasn't friendship, Briar wasn't sure what was.  
  
And, annoyingly enough, he knew he was only mad at Crane because the man had been right.  
  
_What are you talking about?!_ Sandry demanded, and Briar realized he hadn't kept his thoughts exactly private. He led Russet out through the front gate, exactly as a docile little stable boy should.  
  
"You owe me, Crane," he muttered.  
  
Duke Vedris, at the head of the group, looked down in surprise at the unlikely stable hand. "Is that Briar Moss? I didn't realize you and Rosethorn had returned yet." The other nobles suppressed their surprise at the Duke's familiarity with the boy, dressed plainly in breeches and a very old shirt.  
  
"Just yesterday, your grace," Briar replied with a bow. He could just sense Crane's amusement.  
  
Vedris looked at the young mage gravely. "I suppose Crane put you up to this. Thank you for leading my niece's horse."  
  
Briar could tell that one of two of the Bags had begun to recognize his name, from the way they were peering at him from their saddles. He bared his teeth at them mentally. _I'd give a lot to see them try to keep their seat on ol' Chumpy.  
_  
_Stop thinking of torturing them,_ Sandry said irritably. _I'm coming out now._  
  
"She's coming," Briar told Crane, who had remounted.  
  
Sandry appeared in the doorway, and Briar's jaw dropped. She was wearing a gown so fancy that it almost hurt Briar's street-bred eyes to look at it. The white silk – only nobles would wear white silk, Briar thought, because they're the only ones who can pay to replace it once it's immediately stained- was edged with silver embroideries of leaves and vines, and sewn with dozens of tiny seed pearls. Her hair, smoothly swept back and arranged in a waterfall of golden brown curls, was held back with more pearls strung on silver thread and a network of tiny diamond clasps. A silver circlet glistened brightly in the sunlight, and sheer white scarves hung from her elbows to flutter gracefully in the wind.  
  
She was really, really beautiful.  
  
"Sandry?" The duke's voice was gentle. She caught herself staring at Briar, who stared right back until Crane nudged him with one foot.  
  
_You look like a ... a real Noble, Duchess,_ Briar managed to say, then mentally kicked himself. He knew he had said the wrong thing, he saw it in Sandry's eyes, and he felt terrible.  
  
_Stop it._ She sounded absolutely miserable. _You weren't supposed to be here, anyway._  
  
"Briar, would you do me the honor of assisting Sandrilene?" The Duke was nice, for a Bag. For anyone, Briar admitted. He was still rather stunned, and couldn't seem to put a thought together. "Of course, your grace," he managed to say, before realizing he had no clue how to help a Lady to mount. _Uh, Sandry, ..._  
  
_Just cup your hands, and when I put my foot into them, lift up._ Her voice still sounded distant and unhappy. _I can do it myself, but it looks better this way.  
_  
He did as she said, and she lightly leaped into Russet's sidesaddle, which Briar had never seen her use before. In fact, Sandry always had something disparaging to say about sidesaddles. _You're being a Lady for them, aren't you?_  
  
A bit of light returned to her blue eyes, which until now had been dark and sad. _For now_, she replied, as a pale, thin, young man drew his horse closer to Russet, his look clearly sizing Briar up, then mentally dismissing him.  
  
"My dear Princess Sandrilene, I am so glad to have the privilege of seeing you again," the pale chuff said simperingly. Sandry winced and quickly glanced down at Briar, who had heard every word.  
  
"Princess?" he whispered, forgetting even to mindspeak. The pale chuff glared at him. "You're a _Princess_?"  
  
Sandry opened her mouth to answer, but the noble cut her off preemptively. "Yes," he said stuffily, offended. "The Princess Sandrilene of the Nemornese Empire, a noble fa Toren by birth, and Lady of Torenne Estate and hostess of Emelan." His gaze fell on Briar, "I do not think she gave you leave to speak to her, boy."  
  
Sandry's eyes flashed; she immediately spun in her saddle to wage war with the pale nobleman, who turned even paler as an invisible hand gripped his silken collar. "I don't believe I gave _you_ leave to speak for me," she said, words icy. As she began to hiss something quite inaudibly at the man, Duke Vedris simply sighed and shook his head with a small smile. The pale man began to tremble, and his horse, sensing his anxiety, sidled as far away from Russet as he could.  
  
"Temper, Lady Sandrilene." Crane's dry voice broke through her fury. "I think you have frightened that man enough." The nobleman's head jerked as his collar was released, and spurred his horse to a gallop- in the direction of Emelan.  
  
The duke wheeled his horse around to face Sandry, upon whom he placed a comforting hand. "Don't worry about him."  
  
She looked up, her smile slightly bitter. "I don't think _I'll_ have to, anymore. But Uncle-"  
  
A man in his late thirties spoke, smiling. "Leadley's lands aren't essential to our trade routes, and his pompous attitude is highly misplaced. If his father and councilors are anything like him, I think you may have done us a favor, Sandrilene."  
  
"Thank you, Lord Tennesal." Sandry glanced down at Briar, but he was blankly staring at her right shoe and refused to look at her. _Briar?  
_  
"Are you feeling well enough to attend, Sandry?" Vedris was no mage, but he didn't need to listen to Sandry and Briar's private conversation –or lack of- to recognize the hurts between them, and just why they had come about. He deeply regretted having to remind his great-niece that they were late for the meeting, but it was necessary.  
  
Briar still wouldn't look at her. "I'll go," she said, very quietly, staring at the top of her friend's curly head. _Briar._  
  
Crane actually had to kick him before he would raise his eyes from Sandry's shoe. _We have some things to talk about, maybe,_ he said, trying to tease her. He failed miserably.  
  
_I'm sorry._ She sounded so heartbroken that Briar reached up and gripped her hand in his. One of her rings –sharp rings- was jabbing into his flesh, but he didn't care.  
  
_You know I'm going to have to beat some nitty-gritty out of Daja while you're gone._  
  
_After how she teased me yesterday, I don't think I pity her much._ Sandry's mindvoice had a tiny bit of a smile in it, which heartened Briar. _And_, she said softly, _I really am sorry_. She squeezed his hand once, as proof, then turned to ride towards the Hub.  
  
  
  
Briar had been sitting on Discipline's doorstep with his head in his hands for at least an hour when Daja opened the door and had given his skull a solid thwack. "Hey, watch it!" she cried. "I could have really hurt you. I like to _open_ doors."  
  
When Briar said nothing, Daja paused directly in front of him. "Briar?"  
  
He dropped his hands, but they only hung limply from their wrists. "So that was what you were talking about last night. Princess stuff."  
  
Daja joined him on the step, took one good look at his face, and winced. "Yeah. I only knew because I had been in Nemorn during the assassinations. A bunch of the royal family was killed off, you know, and those Nemornese royals always did like having a lot of themselves around. Since Sandry was the Empress's first cousin, it was simply logical that she would be one. They have thirteen of them, you know."  
  
"Of what?" Briar asked, obviously lost in thought.  
  
"Princesses. Thirteen princesses."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Sandry didn't want everyone to know right away. She didn't want to do it in the first place, of course, but she has that sense of duty and all."  
  
"Why didn't . . . I mean, lots of people would be weird about it, but not us. We're like...like a crew. A family." Briar's distress level was beginning to rise again. "Why didn't she want me to know?"  
  
Daja chuckled sympathetically. "Briar, why are you asking _me_? But two things." He looked up, almost surprised out of his pathos. "First of all, you _are_ acting weird about it. She's still our Sandry, after all. And second . . ." Daja paused. "You _really_ need to talk to her. Really talk. You'd be surprised."  
  
Briar snorted gently. "You act like you know something I don't, Trader."  
  
"You're not the only one in the shade," Daja retorted. "And monopoly has its benefits," she added, chuckling cryptically as she walked out of Discipline's gates and toward the forge.  
  
  
  
The meeting grew quiet as they waited for Duke Vedris's response.  
  
Moonstream sat in front of Vedris, only her eyes betraying her anxiety. "Your grace?" she inquired, after several minutes of silence.  
  
Duke Vedris was deep in thought, Sandry could tell, by the way he was rubbing his callused knuckles with his forefinger. "Is what you're saying true?" he asked finally, voice low.  
  
A muted voice emitted from the speakstone. "Vedris, we think so. The visions are coming clearer, and more frequently, since I've been approaching Summersea; other mages have been reported magical shifts in the areas around North Renall and the Grasslands. Also," Niko added more quietly, "these lesser mages in the region around Renall have mentioned the presence of Jahlaran Glassheart."  
  
"Not the one who-"  
  
"The one and only," Niko confirmed grimly. "And if his magical presence is there, then both Glassheart's puppet mages and Drainril's horde of raiders will also have thrown their lot in, willingly or not."  
  
Vedris's hand, damp with sweat, traveled from his forehead to chin. "Frantsen," he said softly, "just what have you done?"  
  
Moonstream leaned forward eagerly. "Niko and our seer mages have been given images of attack, but can't there be another explanation? Why would Lord Frantsen be so foolish as to lay waste to what will eventually be his legacy?"  
  
Erdogun sighed, and turned to Sandry, who ruffled through a small stack of papers for a copy of Vedris's will. Erdo took the parchment, but paused briefly, looking down at the document in his hand. "We really meant to do this more...tactfully," he said, stiff with regret. "Also, we didn't think our actions would influence so quickly."  
  
Vedris cleared his throat. "What we are trying to say is that Frantsen, as of three weeks ago, is no longer my heir to Emelan."  
  
To Sandry's immense surprise, the room went absolutely silent as every occupant turned to stare at Tennesal, who stared right back. Moonstream, her eyebrows raised, asked, "Then who, my dear Duke Vedris, will inherit?"  
  
Vedris's voice rang out merrily, if only for his second son's sake. "Tennesal, if he will have it." Turning to Sandry, he patted her hand with his and nodded consent. Taking a small leather pouch out of a cleverly hidden pocket, Sandry removed a heavy gold ring.  
  
Standing and walking to Tennesal, whose mouth was still open in shock, she gently offered the signet to the man. "There are two," she explained. "One belongs to Uncle, who is ruler now, and one to you, the heir. If you would like some time to think about this, you may. But at least take the ring, because I'd like to sit down again."  
  
He stood and bowed to Sandry. "Of course I would relieve you of your task. But Father-"he asked, clearly confused, "are you really sure?"  
  
"Of course he is," Erdogun said sharply. "Just take the thing, boy, and move on with it." But then Erdo smiled, and Tennesal's face relaxed.  
  
"Thank you, Father. And thank you Sandrilene, for being so patient with me." He turned back to Sandry, still waiting holding the ring, and accepted it from her hand. She curtseyed and returned to her seat, smiling. She liked Tennesal, and her heart had almost stopped when he hadn't taken the ring from her.  
  
"Now that the happy business is over," Moonstream murmured politely. "Duke Vedris, how many know of this ... felicitous exchange?"  
  
"Myself, Lord Erdogun, Sandrilene, my Lady Provost, and, er . . . Yasmin." Erdogun stifled a laugh at the Duke's expense. Vedris hesitated. "Do you speak of spies?"  
  
Crane leaned forward, his tired brown eyes sharp. "Would anyone have access to these documents? Someone who might have informed Frantsen of his ill fortune?"  
  
"Emelan's good fortune, that is," Erdo growled, wincing as the Duke's elbow jabbed his arm.  
  
"Niko's premonitions began half a month ago," Moonstream said thoughtfully. "It is possible that Frantsen had already been cooperating with Glassheart and that villain Drainril, and that knowledge of his loss was merely a catalyst."  
  
Niko's stone spoke again. "The mages I ... er, interrogated, told me that Glassheart had been a frequent guest at Renall. I have not heard of Drainril's involvement, but he owes a great debt to Glassheart for his help in invading several southern fiefs. I would have said that Drainril barely held any loyalty to Glassheart, except that the King of Kiritain Raiders has taken Glassheart's youngest sister as his wife."  
  
Moonstream's smile was ironic. "And to think we _almost_ could have counted on the dishonor of thieves."  
  
"Definitely not honor," Niko insisted from the stone. "Family loyalties? The fear of what would happen if he denied such a powerful brother-in-law? How convenient for Glassfire. Drainril now has to fear being knifed in his own bed, as well as in the open."  
  
The Duke sighed. "Summersea will defend," he said heavily. "Both Emelan and temple grounds, if it comes to battle." He looked at Moonstream and Crane. "I know Glassheart would love to get his hands on Winding Circle." 


	3. A Short Chapter on Lessons

Sorry I haven't updated in a few days, but my wisdom teeth had emerged and were pried from my jaw painfully. Due to Vicodin and odd sleep patterns, I haven't had much time to write. By the way, excuse the chemistry crap in Daja's section. I squeaked by Chem with a B-.  
  
Here is a rather shoddy chapter on what the little magic ones are doing. Please comment, I need some sweet lovin'.  
  
  
  
Frostpine watched, amused, as an irritated Daja continued to make yards of copper wire. "Frostpine, you haven't forced me to make _wire_ since ... since ..."  
  
"Forever," he answered. "The next step will work better, though, if the wire comes from your hands. Not that you'll have much time for wire, but we'll start out strong. Thinner, now."  
  
"No magic?" the girl muttered.  
  
"None. You'll need it later."  
  
Kirel stuck his head into the back forge. "If it makes you feel any better, Daj," he said, "Frostpine's been having me do iron wire for the past week. And he's done _pounds_ himself."  
  
"What could we possibly use all this for?" Daja asked, staring at the frightening weak fiber in her hands. "It's almost like string."  
  
Frostpine looked at Kirel accusingly, who shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't tell," the younger Fire dedicate told his master.  
  
"We are going to be working in conjunction with our finest weaving mages, namely Lark and Sandry," Frostpine explained, opening a small cabinet and taking out bunches of wire in copper, silver, and iron. Daja whistled in appreciation. "It's to fortify battle robes."  
  
"Battle robes?"  
  
Frostpine rubbed his chin in frustration. "Stop playing dumb. Now lay out your wire on the table, flat. Smooth it with your hands until it's as straight as you can get it." Daja obeyed. "Now look at it."  
  
She did. "I see wire, Frostpine."  
  
He spoke slowly this time, and Daja paid even closer attention. Frostpine and patience went together like Traders and merchants; when he used this tone of voice, it meant she had better pay attention. "Focus your eyes, look as close into the metal as you can see."  
  
Daja squinted slightly, her eyes pointed to the edge of the glistening strand. She imagined herself moving closer...closer...she was inside the metal. But not inside, exactly. She was _among_ it now.  
  
"I see it," she whispered. She drifted past tiny, dense masses, carried along by a bizarrely swift current. Daja frowned. "Some of these don't look the same." To her mind, the dense clumps looked like lumpy circles. Some were lumpier than others.  
  
Frostpine's voice sounded very far away. "Then throw them out," he suggested. "We need the copper to be as pure as possible." She took one of the anomalies in her hand, chucking it as hard as she could.  
  
"Can I come out now?"  
  
He chuckled. "Of course."  
  
Daja returned to her body and looked up at her teacher. "What were those things? I didn't think metal looked like that close up."  
  
"The building blocks for all matter. You saw the ones that looked like copper." Frostpine looked at the wire, and then back at Daja. "We won't need to look that close again for the present, but will be needing to etch our runes into the surface of these wires. This time, don't go _into_ the metal, just hover over the surface. Draw your finger over the exterior, and you'll leave extremely small grooves in the wire."  
  
Daja swung herself in close to the wire, but refocused her eyes briefly to look at her teacher. "What should I write?" she asked, her body's index finger poised like a pen.  
  
Kirel and Frostpine exchanged glances before the younger Dedicate answered. "The symbol for physical protection. The copper will protect the body from some blows, while the iron strands will be inscribed with repelling factors. Silver will strengthen the spirit, and we'll- actually, you'll- be marking those with the symbol for composure."  
  
"You see," Frostpine added heavily, "the news we've had is quite bad. We have a maybe a week to prepare, and we, my student, need to outfit our entire standing force."  
  
  
  
The look on Rosethorn's face was almost priceless as she stood on the back stoop of Discipline. "I assume you've noticed," she said crisply, her hands on her hips as she inspected her garden.  
  
"Ma'am," Briar murmured, wondering how close he could walk near his teacher without being cuffed. She inspected his work, nodding at the cleared areas.  
  
"As much as I appreciate weeding, boy," she began, "we're going to abandon Crane's little exercise in reconciliation for the time being. I hope he doesn't mind too much."  
  
"No weeding?" Briar asked, shocked. It was summer. Summer _meant_ weeding.  
  
"Fortification." Rosethorn's voice cut into Briar's thoughts like a scythe. "Sweat heather, lavender, and lace fern, to name a few. And especially rose geranium." Briar grinned; both Lark and Frostpine used rose geranium extensively, and he had become more than slightly fond of the scent. He followed Rosethorn into her workroom, and nearly tripped over bushels of mast.  
  
"We've got some work cut out for us," the earth Dedicate said dryly. "Remember the blue pox? The work we did there was for _one_ hospital; now we get to do Winding Circle. This reconstruction we do for Lark and Frostpine. The rose geranium ought to have tipped you off by now."  
  
"'Course," Briar said, as blithely as he could without showing his dismay at the sight of the thousands of baskets stacked in every available corner. "Though what possibly for?"  
  
His teacher nodded toward an empty bench- the only one not covered in supplies, Briar noted- and motioned for him to sit as she loomed overhead. "This is confidential, boy," she said, her eyebrows knitted together. "You've only been given leave because they need our work to begin _now_." She smiled wryly. "Consider yourself lucky. You get to reconstruct for the rest of the week._ I_ get to help Crane."  
  
Rosethorn's hands were shaking, which was beginning to alarm Briar. "Does this have anything to do with Niko's recent vision?"  
  
A forefinger and thumb gripped his ear. "And just what did that weather- witch Tris tell you?" Rosethorn demanded.  
  
He glared at his teacher, prying her fingers from his head. "Nothing at all," he said, defensively. "Niko had more tricksy shading spells set up than a dragonsalt merchant's den."  
  
She leaned forward. "Crane's working on seeds that will grow to be aware, to be planted discreetly along the roads and wilderness outside Summersea. We're to do these plants up new for Lark and Sandry, as well as Frostpine and Daja, and then, like the last time pirates hit, attempt to barricade our weak spots with those thorny brambles."  
  
"What do you mean...like the last time?" Briar had less than fond memories of the last pirate attack on Winding Circle.  
  
Rosethorn sighed, her face grim. "It's raiders, this time, and mages, the worst kind you could expect. Along with ..." She paused. "I'm trusting you now, boy. We're not supposed to let this be public until _after_ his grace Vedris was informed." Briar crossed his heart with one tattooed hand. "That vile Frantsen is leading an attack by land and sea against his own father. And our defenses are absolutely useless unless we can modify them in time to trick those complacent traitors into a trap."  
  
  
  
Tris sat near Niko, watching as her teacher's face went red with rage. "It's not as if I haven't tried to scry deeper into their plan!" he shouted into his speakstone. "The reason that no one has even seen the enemy movements is because Glassheart is a vision artist trained specifically for the hiding of illegals."  
  
The speakstone was silent for a moment before voices reerupted from the smooth surface. "But Niko, aren't you a seer?"  
  
For a moment, Tris actually thought that Niko would have hurled his speakstone into the road, judging from the expression on his face. "I can't make miracles," he said, teeth gritted. "While I _do_ command more than a little skill at detection, I cannot patrol every inch of Emelan's boarders; nor can I alone expose what must be _scores_ of mages spending power on Glassheart's spells."  
  
Tris awkwardly patted her teacher's arm. Despite her years among friends – real friends- she had never been very comfortable touching people. "They can't expect you to do everything," she said quietly, allowing a small breeze to whisk her voice away from the stone.  
  
Niko looked up at her and tried to smile, his eyes bloodshot. "Then they certainly do try," he replied bitterly, staring out over the plains. "We should have left earlier," he commented. "Then I could have _personally_ thwarted their uninformed scheme instead of arguing through- through a rock!"  
  
"Hush," Tris snapped as her winds quickly trapped his angry voice in its turbulence. "I can't block _all_ the sounds, you know." The wagon stopped rolling, and Tris noticed that the sun was beginning to set. "I guess we stop here for the night."  
  
Niko didn't answer. A flask of now-cold tea sat next to him, unopened. Closer inspection showed her that the flecks of leaves inside were soggy and clumped at the bottom. Tris sighed. "Come on, get some fresh air. I'll make some tea, you know that will help. And, if you'd like ..." She hesitated.  
  
"Yes?" Niko said, arching one tired eyebrow. "You know you only sound like that when you have some magical suggestion, and you're worried that I will be offended."  
  
Tris made a face. "Of course." Jamming the rim of her glasses back up the side of her nose, she glared at the man for knowing her so well. "I was _thinking_ that, if you could keep your eye on Summersea's harbor and to the south of Winding Circle, I could try to look out for anomalies from the north and west."  
  
Niko looked at his student. "I wasn't aware you had many seeing properties among your magic- any of you."  
  
"I'm no seer, but northwest of Emelan is mostly grass. And most practical shielding spells don't account for one thing- wind. I could listen for odd gaps, where breezes bounce off of barriers, as well as for those shoddy ones that don't even keep in sounds."  
  
"They are just going for invisibility," Niko murmured, clearly thinking hard. She let him have his silence for several minutes.  
  
Tris twiddled her thumbs in her cotton skirt. "It won't take very much out of me," she commented finally, "and you could still tap me if you needed something big."  
  
She could tell he didn't want to accept. "I am getting pretty tired," he admitted. "But if you see anything suspicious- anything- you come tell me first. Before you start poking around."  
  
"Deal," Tris said. "Now, for your tea."  
  
  
  
Sandry wanted to scream.  
  
"We _know_ that Frantsen knows of Winding Circle's defenses along the harbor. So even if we employ the vision mesh around the temple grounds, their mages will know to avoid the trap."  
  
"Even with Rosethorn and Crane's plants, how will we know that enspelled _platoons_ aren't sneaking by?"  
  
"How well is Emelan prepared for a siege? Pirates with their black dust almost cracked their way within these walls five years ago, so imagine what an armed force outfitted with mages and catapults can do."  
  
Erdogun caught Sandry's eyes and motioned with his head toward Vedris, who sat stiffly between them. His face was beginning to be tinged with gray, though not nearly as badly as it would have a year ago. Sandry, however, had not anticipated an all-day meeting. And as uncomfortable as Sandry felt by interfering, she knew she had to.  
  
"Uncle," she whispered finally, catching the edge of his sleeve with her magic. The duke felt the gentle tug and acknowledged, turning to Dedicate Moonstream with a sigh.  
  
She understood. "Perhaps we can reconvene tomorrow? When we have had a chance to consolidate our plans." The duke moved to rise, and only wavered slightly on his feet as both Sandry and Erdogun quickly braced him by the arms.  
  
One of the nobles, Lord Krendaw from a fief in Southern Emelan, jumped to his feet. "But your grace," he sputtered, "we can't possibly leave without some kind of plan."  
  
Vedris's hand tightened on Sandry's shoulder preventatively as Moonstream simultaneously held up one slender hand. "If it is a plan you want, then we shall have one tomorrow. But this may satisfy you for now: we will send messengers overnight to the borders of Emelan, to inform my nobles of their duties to the people isolated in villages."  
  
Moonstream nodded in agreement. "Winding Circle will set our most powerful mages to the detection of any disturbances in our range. Will you now allow his grace to regain his strength?" Krendaw gulped, seeing the set of Moonstream's mouth.  
  
"Yes, Honored Dedicate," he murmured, attempting to gracefully withdraw from the chambers without drawing attention to himself.  
  
"Sandry," Vedris said, once mounted on his horse outside the Hub. "I will rest, I promise."  
  
"I'll ride back with you," the girl offered, blue eyes worried. "I don't want you to strain yourself, not tonight." Her uncle chuckled, reaching out to tousle her hair, pausing only at the last minute as she grinned. "Go ahead, it can be messy now," she told him impishly.  
  
"Don't worry about me. Go home to your friends tonight, I'll see you soon enough."


	4. Romancing and the Morning of Midsummer

Hello, here's another installment of _All My Mages_. It's pretty heavy- handedly Sandry/Briar in this chapter, though I really didn't mean it to be when I started writing this story. It was meant to be soaked through and through with Rosethorn and Crane, and I promise it will get very much so, very soon. It's always so fun writing dialogues between Rosethorn and Crane, though I like writing Briar's thoughts best of all. I don't have to watch my grammar, for one.  
  
Also, I know I haven't mentioned the little apprentice mages, but- here I am ashamed- I haven't read all of the Circle Opens yet. In fact, I've read only one. However, I am quite broke right now, and I haven't been able to pick up the books at the store yet (I already checked the library). So, I'll throw in a bit about them later. It will suffice to say that only Pasco is in Emelan.  
  
Please comment! I feed on comments. Feed. Feed.

  
  
Sandry had more than one reason for not wanting to go home to Discipline, and Briar was definitely not the least of her worries. So she took a long, leisurely soak in the bathhouse, only ducking into Discipline for her bath robe and supplies.  
  
She had just slipped back into her room and into her nightdress when Daja's mindvoice rang through her head. _You can put it off as long as you want, but it won't go away.  
_  
Sandry ran a comb through her long hair, only partially dried. _I know, I know_, she said with a sigh. _I just don't know what to say._  
  
_Well, if it's any help, the boy is dozing on the roof. Rosethorn half killed him today, in case you haven't noticed all the fresh rose geraniums hanging around Discipline._ Sandry giggled. Despite her haste, she had seen the cups and vases filling the table and Rosethorn's workroom. _They're a bit of pretty, Lark decided, so they're being displayed for now. They were all dried before Rosethorn and Briar redid them._  
  
Sandry whistled, impressed. _I'll go talk to him,_ she said sheepishly. _Especially since he's half asleep._  
  
_Then go!_  
  
  
  
From where he lay sprawled on an oilcloth, Briar could hear the creaking of the hatch as it opened. "Briar?"  
  
He groaned as he rolled over to stare at Sandry. "Ow." Adjusting himself so that the straw of the roof wouldn't scratch his bare arms, Briar only managed to tear another muscle.  
  
No, that was just a seam in the ancient shirt he was wearing, which had already lost its sleeves and most of its buttons.  
  
She climbed up onto the roof to crouch by him, her blue eyes wide with concern. "What's wrong?"  
  
"Just stiff. We sat all day staring at those awful rose geraniums, I think my back has solidified into one big ouch." He looked up at her and blushed, scrambling to sit up. "Sorry. Sit on this, so the dust won't get at you."  
  
She settled beside him on the oilcloth, making her body small to fit into the little space left by his lanky body. "So."  
  
"So..." He refused to meet her eyes.  
  
Briar didn't know what to begin to say. The back of his neck began to ache slightly, and he rubbed at it with a dusty hand. He massaged the tense spot, willing the muscles to relax.  
  
Sandry sighed. "Oh, just lie back down before you hurt yourself some more." Her thin arms were surprisingly strong as she hauled him back into his former position, settling his head in her lap. Briar supposed that, if he thought of it, he had seen both Lark and Sandry doing hard work before. He just didn't realize she was that strong.  
  
He came out of his half-reverie to hear a wicked chuckle. "I tricked you, you realize," she said, almost wiggling with glee. "I knew you wouldn't look me in the eye, and now I have you trapped." Briar looked up, startled, to meet a pair of dancing blue eyes.  
  
He looked away; a cool hand deftly repositioned his chin.  
  
He tried to sit up; a hand pressed against his forehead quickly discouraged this move.  
  
His curly hair dragged into his eyes, and he looked at her through the protective curtain they formed; her hand appeared less than an inch above his eyebrows and he yelped.  
  
Ok, so maybe she was right. "You win, Sandry."  
  
"I know," she said, magnanimous in her victory. "But you put up a good fight."  
  
And the ice had been broken, just like that. Not for the first time, Briar was seeing some of Lark's subtle abilities emerge in Sandry.  
  
"Briar, I'm really sorry I didn't tell you about me being Princess." Her voice floated, disembodied, above his head. "It wasn't something I really wanted everyone to talk about, anyway."  
  
He couldn't help sounding a little accusatory, even though he tried not to. "I wish it had been you who said it, not that ugly chuff this morning."  
  
"I didn't mean for you to hear it from him," she said angrily. Briar could tell that the clip in her soft voice was for the chuff, and not for him, but he felt guilty anyway. "Especially not him. I'll murder him, if you'd like," she offered, her voice light. Deceivingly light.  
  
Briar, tired as he was, decided it would be more useful to poke about in her mind. He teased a strand of his magic into hers- and instantly hit a shadowy barrier. "Just what," she said, "do you think you're doing?"  
  
"I wish you'd tell me what's really bothering you. I know that blot means you're hiding something."  
  
Briar could feel Sandry's shoulders droop. "Becoming a princess ... well, it made me feel like I wasn't going to be Sandry anymore."  
  
"Of course you're still Sandry," Briar protested.  
  
"You always like to point out to me that I'm a noble- you call me Duchess, and I don't really mind because you're teasing." Her voice was becoming quieter and quieter. "But we hadn't seen each other for so long. I know we'll all always be friends, but I was afraid that maybe you would turn around one day and-"  
  
She was going to cry, and that scared Briar. He still wasn't good with crying females, especially ones he liked.  
  
"-and maybe you'd see me differently, like how lots of people have looked at me since I became Princess. They treat me differently. I didn't want you to do that, too." She sniffed, looking down at her lap. "I was just scared and stupid."  
  
Because she had just told him something she hadn't wanted to, Briar felt obligated to open his big dumb mouth and say something to reassure her. "You weren't stupid, I was," he told her. "When Chuff said you were a Princess, the street rat in me froze up. I thought I wasn't fit to touch your right shoe."  
  
Sandry slammed her hand into the thatching of Discipline. "Briar, you know that was exactly what I did not want to hear!"  
  
He shrugged, and winced as his stiff shoulder gave a twang of pain. "I thought it might make you feel better if I told you what a moron I was. But Sandry," he hesitated. "You'll always be _you_ to me. No matter what, I promise."  
  
She hesitated, then took his hand in hers. "So we're okay, then? I really didn't like not telling you things."  
  
"Friends," he said firmly. "Even if you're Sandry, Queen of the Universe." She tousled his hair playfully. "Since I can't call you Duchess anymore, can I at least call you Princess?"  
  
She looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "We'll see."  
  
The tension had drained from the air, and Briar finally felt himself relax. He was _tired_, after all, and began to feel his eyelids droop. "Maybe I'd hug you, but the rose geraniums got the better of me today."  
  
She smiled down at him, and he barely managed one back. "Just rest. I'll wake you up when it's time to go in." His head sank into her rose-silk lap, and vaguely he recognized the smell of sweet pea. From the sachets in the boxes, he remembered. Her dress was soft, like her hand. Which was still in his, he remembered suddenly, because he could feel it resting lightly against his chest.  
  
Abruptly, he was more awake.  
  
"Maybe I should go to bed," he stammered, aware that his heart was beginning to pound much more quickly than it should.  
  
Sandry was apparently unaware of Briar's anxiety. "If you'd like," she said, preoccupied. "It's rather warm inside, though. There's some air up here, at least." The wind fluttered her hair around her face, and she smiled into the breeze.  
  
"There is," he agreed, his green eyes drawn to her face. Glancing down at him, surprised, her eyes flicked to her hand, still cradled tenderly in Briar's. In the half-light, he thought he saw her blush, but he couldn't be sure.  
  
I can't be, he thought to himself, incredulous. But I think I am.  
  
The next few minutes passed quite silently. Rather ordinarily, Briar thought ruefully, until a huge gust of wind blew a large quantity of dust over Discipline, leaving the both of them coughing and brushing brown grit from their clothes.  
  
"Maybe the wind isn't all good," the girl said mournfully. "As hot as it is." She crouched, rolling up the oilcloth, as Briar hauled himself to his knees. Crawling toward the opening in the roof, he pulled himself in and then offered Sandry a hand.  
  
"Goodnight," she said shyly, then leaned over to give him a one armed hug, since Briar had not yet relinquished her hand. Maybe he could get used to hugs, if it was Sandry giving them. "Thank you for being so patient with me."  
  
"Naw," he replied. "I ain't done nothing."  
  
Briar didn't actually have a list of things that he wouldn't ever do, but, if pressed, he would have claimed one existed. There were quite a few things he suspected he would never do, ever, and one of those unwritten laws would have been, "No romancing." Another would have been never to eat rotten goat meat again, something he had silently promised himself after coming to Winding Circle. But mushy stuff would definitely have been on the top of the list.  
  
However, Briar managed to surprise himself as he raised Sandry's fingertips, dusty as they were, to his mouth and just barely brushed them with his lips. Then he slipped out of the attic to the second floor with only a slight thump, leaving Sandry wide-eyed in the attic.  
  
I've got it bad, he told himself, rather sheepishly. He wasn't sure he cared all that much. A guy's gotta go soft sometime. Maybe it was just his turn.  
  
  
  
Lark was sitting at the table, quite peacefully writing a letter, when the door opened and Rosethorn walked in from the dark. "Hello, Rosie."  
  
"I did it," came the irritated reply. "I went to the greenhouse and I thanked him. Are you happy now?"  
  
Mildly, Lark just looked at her friend. "I don't believe I even asked you to do that. But I would have, so, yes, I might be happy." She bent to her task again until a muffled thump made her look up. Rosethorn had sat at the table, and the sound was her head hitting the wood.  
  
"Rosie?"  
  
The younger dedicate raised her head, hair mussed on the side that had collided with the table. "What's wrong with me? Why can't I just get along well enough without- without-"  
  
Lark reached over and took Rosethorn's hand, which had been twitching violently. "I'm not sure what happened between you two, though I'm sure it was quite interesting. But do you think you could be friends again?"  
  
Rosethorn gave a little bitter glare and then sighed. "I don't know how." The side of her mouth twisted ironically. "I don't think I _can_."  
  
Lark smiled her most comforting smile. "Rosie, of course you can. Why don't you bring him something for Midsummer? It doesn't have to be something like tomatoes-" Rosethorn grinned viciously- "but today was almost like an armistice. Back it up."  
  
"You know the problem was never tomatoes," Rosethorn said airily, before her expression changed to one more inscrutable. "But I do have something." Standing briskly, she disappeared into her workroom to return with a small package wrapped in paper. "They're roots," she explained, opening the parcel to reveal four dried, twisted brown lumps.  
  
"What kind?" Lark said, fascinated. They looked almost like small potatoes to the thread mage, but she'd have to run fast if she had told that to Rosethorn.  
  
Rosethorn was very carefully regarding the brown lumps. "Sunblooms," she said slowly. "Warm weather flowers. Perfect," she added dryly, "for certain greenhouses."  
  
"I don't think I've seen them before."  
  
"They're not all that easy to find." Lark raised an eyebrow quizzically. "I bullied a few dozen merchants before one of them managed to acquire these."  
  
Lark touched one with a gentle fingertip. "What do they look like grown? And does Crane like these?"  
  
"They range from yellow to dark red, and, yes, Crane likes these." Rosethorn swallowed a bit before grudgingly admitting, "They're his favorite warm-weather flower."  
  
Lark smiled, pulling out a small piece of white silk. "You didn't just happen upon these, did you, Rosethorn?" Retying the paper, Lark wrapped the small package in the silk, tying a thin green ribbon around with a bow.  
  
Rosethorn's glare was impressive. "I was missing home so badly one day, and I tried to reach Discipline and our plants. Crane was doing a bit of weeding in the garden; I could feel him there." She poked the neatly wrapped package with one finger. "I thought I'd bring these back for him. Maybe I got carried away, but I just wanted to do something nice in return. I don't know if he'll like being reminded that we knew each other so well, once."  
  
"Oh, Rosie, and you said you didn't know how to be friends," Lark said, almost laughing. "You'll do fine." Rising, Lark placed Crane's gift in the small pile accumulating near the doorway, near a tall vase of rose geraniums.  
  
"I could come to regret this," Rosethorn said gruffly. "I'm going to bed. Blasted flowers are everywhere."  
  
  
  
_Tris isn't back and its Midsummer already!_ Daja complained loudly. Sandry groaned and pulled a pillow over her head in an attempt to block out sound, before realizing Daja was shouting through their magic.  
  
_It's early, Trader._ Briar was obviously still in bed, too, and surly. _Whatcha have to go and yatter on for?_  
  
_Oh, good, you're both up now! Happy Midsummer._ Daja was never the least bit thwarted by silent death threats at dawn. _Come out now.  
_  
Sandry dragged herself out of bed with a sigh, pulling on her lightest cotton dress. Braiding her hair, which was now mostly dust-free, she washed her face in the pitcher of water she had left herself in the attic and stumbled ungracefully downstairs.  
  
Rosethorn looked just as good as Sandry and Briar when they emerged from their rooms, but Lark was already wide awake and laying out breakfast. "Happy Midsummer," she told everyone with a smile. "Tea? All of you seem to need it."  
  
"Happy Midsummer," Daja said cheerfully. "Did I tell you I have a slave?"  
  
Rosethorn smiled, showing many teeth. "A slave, you say? How useful. A gift from Frostpine?"  
  
"From Dedicate Moonstream, I'd say, though Frostpine owes me at least a dozen by now."  
  
Lark laid a platter of small baked cakes on the table, as well as some strawberry jam and butter. "Moonstream assigned a young fire mage to Daja to help her with her wire project. I think the authority is getting to her head."  
  
"Yes," Daja admitted. "But he's useful. You see," she explained, "I need someone to keep the wire reasonably warm, and it's inconvenient to have to keep it near a heat source when I'm concentrating. His magic can take care of that for me."  
  
A voice from the doorway caused everyone to turn. "I also move the wire precisely an inch every time her Almighty is done with a section. And," the novice added caustically, "I deliver wire that she forgets at the forge."  
  
"Oops," Daja said, getting up from her seat to take the bundle from the boy, who looked to be about twelve. "Thanks, Trevin. Want some breakfast?"  
  
Trevin grimaced. "Frostpine promised to feed me, or at least he told me so. I'd better go, he just told me to give this to you." He quickly disappeared around the corner and was gone.  
  
Lark, after saying the breakfast prayer, quickly wiped her hands and looked at the cloth-wrapped package Trevin had brought. "Daja, is this the wire we're to work with?"  
  
The Trader nodded, mouth full. "It should be pliable enough to weave through cloth without making it too stiff," she said after swallowing. "We would have tried thinner, but the wire would probably break too easily to even help protect."  
  
Wire between her forefinger and thumb, Lark inspected it closely. "This should be fine," she murmured, showing the sample to Sandry. "Water Dedicates brought the undyed robes to our door yesterday, so today our job is to weave the wire into patterns in the cloth."  
  
Sandry nodded. The basic procedure had been outlined by Moonstream yesterday, to assure the nobles that Winding Circle would have proper defenses in case of attack. "Along with rose geranium oil."  
  
Briar groaned. "Lots of rose geranium oil."  
  
Rosethorn looked at her student thoughtfully. "After today, it's up to you. I have to go work with Crazy Head Crane, so make sure with Lark and Sandry while you do supplies. Don't run out of one thing first, because that wastes time."  
  
"I know. I'll try not to mope."  
  
"See to it that you don't," Rosethorn said, voice acidic. "I know it seems like humdrum work now, but buck up, boy. It's important that it's done."  
  
The table was silent for a minute or two. In the hassle of new lessons and Midsummer, it was apparent that not a single resident of Discipline had forgotten the danger their home faced.  
  
Breakfast was over too soon. They cleaned up and said goodbye to Daja, who was spending Midsummer making more magicked wire at the forge. Rosethorn and Briar, as well as Sandry and Lark, disappeared into their respective workrooms, while Little Bear slept in the doorway of the kitchen. Somehow it didn't seem like a holiday when everyone had to be apart to be useful.  
  
  
  
"Do we need to treat the robes first?" Sandry asked, a bit of fine wire in her fingertips. The copper was almost slippery, and wound around her fingers like string.  
  
"Not this time," Lark said with a smile. "We need to use a drop of rose geranium oil, though," she said as she demonstrated, "across the surface of the wire before we weave it into the cloth." With a flick of her fingers, Lark sent the fragile copper into her first undyed robe, allowing the strand to loosely weave itself in a simple basting stitch. "We're to do more herb work after the metal is in place. This morning, we'll use some of the old oil we put up in storage, but when we need to rest this afternoon we'll grind some more from the fresh Rosie and Briar have been working on."  
  
Sandry fingered the edge of her first robe as she experimentally sent a copper thread through the seam of the cloth. "How far apart do we place the wires?" she asked, measuring in her mind.  
  
Lark's copper wire had threaded itself vertically from the back hem of the robe to the front. Picking up a pair of small scissors, she snipped the wire free at the hem and magically tucked the pointed end into the cloth. "We'll alternate copper and iron, about a hand's width apart," she told her student, "with one strand of silver around the front opening of the robe."  
  
Sandry silently measured her robe in her head, deciding she would need three copper stripes and three iron stripes to span the width of the shoulders. "These will do for battle?" The robe was shorter than those most dedicates wore, coming well above the ankle, but the sides were split to increase mobility. The open edges in the front would be overlapped until the collar would fold like a V around the neck of its wearer, while a simple cotton tie in the front secured the robe around the body like a belt.  
  
"Our fire dedicates usually wear short robes and armor," Lark said, wrestling with a roll of iron wire. "Moonstream must anticipate more magical warfare than previously expected. Enahar, remember, relied on his black powder. While these robes would definitely not have been able to protect our guards from that degree of exposure, the protections will most likely deflect most small burns and flying debris better than plain armor."  
  
Sandry smiled as her wire neatly coiled into the palm of her hand, sweetly waiting for its turn to be oiled. "But they'll all be wearing armor underneath, right?"  
  
"Of course. Which is why we're making the robes as light as possible. Though," Lark said, her head tilted slightly to the side as she regarded her next threading, "we'll make special ones for the mages who will be helping our Fire dedicates, those who haven't been trained with armor."  
  
"You mean like Rosethorn and Crane, when they go to look at the Gates?" Sandry tried her best to keep a small tremble from her voice.  
  
"Yes. Though likely ..." Here Lark paused, glancing up at her student with concern. "We'll probably need to make mage robes for all of us, too, just in case."  
  
Sandry tried not to imagine her friends being torn apart by enemy arrows and mage fires. "But it might come to that?" she forced herself to ask.  
  
"Yes," Lark said quietly.  
  
"Then," Sandry told her teacher in a voice that was more than a little fierce, "we'd better make those special robes really good!"  
  
"These," Lark said, touching the small pile of standard robes, "are to generally protect those who wear them. When we do up the stronger robes for the mages, it will help if we keep them in mind while we do the work. That way, the robe will know whom it's trying to protect. But we'll work on those when we've had some time to practice." 


	5. The Quiet Before the Storm

_One question: Where does Crane come from?_

_I admit that this might be the most worthless chapter from this entire story. It should have been included in the last one. However, after this, things kind of blow up as Evil Mage Man and Company come into play. I'm very depressed about this chapter; the only thing that made it worth doing was, of course, Rosethorn and Crane, and playing with perspectives.  
  
Another thing. Thank you Rosethorn, for commenting on my baby Redemption. I wanted to thank you here because I've got a lot of thinking to do before I turn out another chapter of that story. But by the way, it is definitely NOT Sandry/Briar, however it looks now. That was one story I did not want to plague with my S/B notions, which I'm not sure I actually believe in. To reward you, here is more Rosethorn and Crane, though shoddily done.  
  
Which brings me to Sandry/Briar, Tris/Briar, whoever it is debates. I don't think I've seen viable Daja/Briars.  
  
Rosethorn and Crane, you KNOW it's possible for something to go on. Tris and Briar, ehh. I know it's just my personal opinion, but I always felt Tris would do better with someone older, who had more time to hone their much-needed patience before launching into a relationship with Weather Witch. I mainly write Sandry and Briar simply because it's interesting: there's always that Street Boy/Royal Highness issue to fall back on for complications, as well as the fact that Briar needs some stability in his life. Obviously, Sandry more than Tris can give that to him. Daja is simply engrossed in her craft, so while I think I did write something once where Daja has romance, it was completely unreasonable. I think the one story that did a decent job of it was Qui-xux's Shifting Circles. That was a cute one.  
  
Just my two cents._  
  
  
  
Sandry and Briar had an easier time planting gifts than Daja, who had to sneak back from the forge to do so. It was a Midsummer tradition to, unbeknownst to the receiver, secretly place your package on their bed. That is, if you lived in the same house as the person. Giving Frostpine his present had been simpler.  
  
Daja silently swore as she climbed up the back of Discipline. Going down is a lot easier than up, she thought to herself silently. By the time she had swung herself into Tris's old room, she had worked up a light sweat and was ready to welcome winter.  
  
She dropped a wrapped present onto Sandry's mattress. One down. Three to go.  
  
Of course, the windows of Discipline were always open, so once she had escaped from the second floor Daja only had to fling each parcel onto the safety of the beds. Which was easy enough, she thought smugly, as she slipped past Rosethorn's workroom.  
  
And almost ran directly into Dedicate Crane.  
  
She smothered a screech with her own hands over her mouth as Crane propelled himself backward away from the sudden obstruction. "Quiet!" Daja immediately hissed, forgetting formalities with the head Dedicate of the Air Temple. "I'm not supposed to be here. I was just doing Midsummer deliveries."  
  
"Covertly done," Crane managed dryly, as he picked himself off the ground. "I, on the other hand, prefer a more direct approach." He picked up a covered basket that had also fallen into the surrounding greenery. "I hope the contents have not been upset. Now, if you would excuse me."  
  
Daja made the appropriate noises and Crane, satisfied, continued on to Discipline's front door. But while she pretended to walk toward the forge, she doubled back to creep by the unshuttered kitchen window. _What business did Crane have, delivering Midsummer gifts?_ she asked Sandry and Briar, who, drawn by the knocking on the door, had left their work to gape at the dreary man.  
  
  
  
Sandry was, of course, amused at Daja's outburst, but far more interested in Crane's appearance.  
  
"Dedicate Crane!" Lark appeared enthusiastic to see the man, but Sandry suspected that her teacher was anxious to calm his obviously upset nerves. She had never seen Crane standing so stiffly, and Sandry thought she knew by now what it meant.  
  
He hadn't been so uncomfortable inside of Discipline for months. Perhaps because of Rosethorn's sudden return, Crane was no longer feeling as welcome as he had been during the plant mages' time away. Sandry knew that he had occasionally joined Lark and her student Comas for meals, mostly due his foray into Rosethorn's garden, and had even been present for one of Sandry's infrequent visits back to Discipline. Both Lark and Sandry admitted, quite surprised themselves, that he hadn't been such bad company after all.  
  
She told all this to Daja and Briar, who, stunned, had no ready reply. _Of course he's feeling awkward. It was easier for him when Nemesis wasn't here. I hope he doesn't feel too excluded.  
_  
So, trying to be as Lark-like as possible, Sandry also smiled and immediately rummaged through the neatly piled doorway gifts and emerged with a neatly embroidered cushion. "Happy Midsummer, Dedicate Crane." She then secured it to the seat of one of the new chairs Discipline had been given a mere three weeks ago, after an unfortunate bench accident.  
  
Seeing the questioning expression on his face, Lark deftly steered Crane toward the corner, showing him a small pile of similar seat cushions. Each sported an embroidered picture and ribboned corners, which would firmly attach the cloth to the wooden chair legs. "An entirely magicless project," she explained, "but a fun one. In fact, I think Sandry and I entirely enjoyed ourselves far too much while making these."  
  
"They are...?" Crane asked, still confused. He was standing over his, inspecting the picture sewn onto the surface. It depicted a white and brown crane, ankle deep in water, surrounded by a plethora of water-dwelling plants.  
  
"Seat cushions for the chairs," Sandry told him. "We found the chairs are not as comfortable as the benches were." She was increasingly aware of the growing crowd gathering in the kitchen. Briar, Rosethorn, and even Daja had crept out of hiding.  
  
"I hadn't realize Discipline had recently acquired chairs," Crane mentioned. "I seem to recall wooden benches."  
  
Lark never wasted a good opportunity. "You haven't come to dine with us in quite a while. Crane, you ought to come more often. We've gained some members of our household back, but there is still a sufficient amount of chairs."  
  
"There's a special cup," Sandry offered. Opening a cupboard, she removed a teacup on which "Crane" had been painted in small letters. "You won't have to use one of the spares. This is," she said rather sternly, due to his reticence, "an invitation."  
  
Crane's usually listless brown eyes were bewildered. "Thank you," he said, after a barely imperceptible pause. "I appreciate the offer, and I may –er- take you up on it, if the raiders allow me any time for leisurely repose."  
  
"Speaking of business, how goes the project?" Rosethorn asked, arms crossed as she leaned on frame of her workroom's door.  
  
Crane's composure was in place by the time he turned to his colleague. "It goes not at all, yet," he told her, rubbing his hand over a tired face in a familiar gesture. "I've just gotten done with jars of those enhanced seeds that worked so well on the shores five years ago."  
  
Rosethorn looked startled. "Moonstream hadn't told me about that assignment. I could have been helping, instead of making these blasted rose geraniums all morning."  
  
A crooked smile bloomed on Crane's face. "Geraniums, indeed. My first mission was to deliver this basket. I've also come to collect your unwilling person, and whatever supplies you require. Moonstream is due at the greenhouse in half an hour, to discuss ... schematics."  
  
"Briar, you know what to do," Rosethorn said. Her student sighed mightily and agreed. "Finish whatever business you have here, Crane, and I'll be out in a minute." She disappeared into her workshop.  
  
Not at all ruffled by Rosethorn's tone of voice, Crane turned back to Lark. "In the spirit of Midsummer, I thought there were a few things lying around that could be of service," he said mildly. Several small wrapped bottles lay inside the basket he handed her, each marked with a neat slip of paper.  
  
"Thank you, Crane," Lark replied, as Rosethorn emerged from her lair, laden with a small sack. The older dedicate's eyes flicked up at her plant-mage friend, who merely sighed and, pushing aside other packages, located the green-ribboned one.  
  
"Ready?" she said, rather grumpily, and Crane silently followed her to the door.  
  
  
  
Daja slipped out after the two Dedicates, following at a distance she hoped was prudent. Sandry and Briar, still at Discipline, clamored in her mind until she opened her eyes to their magic.  
  
_Can you see well enough now?_ she asked testily, and her two friends agreed silently.  
  
But to Daja's complete surprise, a new twist of magic had been added to her perception. Looking back, Daja could see that Lark had placed her hand on Sandry's forearm.  
  
_You think I don't want to see this, too?_ Lark asked, voice amused. Daja merely grinned and continued to trail the arguing dedicates.  
  
"You might prefer nutgrass," Crane was telling Rosethorn acerbically. "But you must agree that yellowweed has the same properties as your chosen invasive as well as a nature that will be compliant with our magic."  
  
"Nutgrass spreads faster," came Rosethorn's ready reply. "It also is less obvious in a field of green grass."  
  
_Bicker bicker bicker,_ Daja thought, until the two had stopped outside Crane's greenhouse.  
  
They paused as Crane worked the counterspell that would unlock the main entrance to the expensive building. Daja could hear Lark's intake of breath as Rosethorn said something too quietly to hear, handing Crane a small package.  
  
A glitter of silver ran over the package as Crane turned it over in his hands, and his jaw actually dropped. _Crane, shocked dumb?_ Briar gasped. _Can't be._  
  
  
  
"Where did- how-"  
  
Rosethorn managed a small smile at Crane's discomposure. "I managed to track a few of them down."  
  
A long pause, then - a chuckle? "You and I never seemed to give any indication that we knew rather intimate details about each other's lives."  
  
"No." _Trust Rosethorn to shoot down a perfectly courteous statement._  
  
From where she stood, Daja saw Crane's head flinch, as if from a slap, before his eyes suddenly shot toward Rosethorn. What he saw evidently surprised him as much as it did Daja.  
  
She wasn't crying, obviously, because that would practically be against the Laws of Rosethorn. But she was wringing her robes in her hands like she was even younger than the Circle themselves.  
  
Daja could barely hear, but Briar ingeniously called upon the surrounding plants to translate. Which was confusing, since all four of the enthralled spies were now seeing through Daja's power but hearing through Briar's magic.  
  
She mumbled toward the ground, which ironically made it even easier for Briar to understand. "I wanted to tell you that I was sorry. Before we all die in whatever is coming. That certainly gave me good motivation."  
  
Crane reached inside his robe, pulling out a medium sized wooden box. Rosethorn was still carefully inspecting the dirt beneath her feet, and the sudden touch of his hands startled her as he folded her fingers around the carved case.  
  
_Now what is that?_ Sandry asked, almost wildly. She thought she knew; a trip her parents had taken when she was seven had led to the rocky province from where Crane had originated. _Is that- that-_  
  
Lark, however, was clearly astonished. _I don't believe it. I just can't believe it._  
  
_What is it?_ Briar cried. _What? What?!  
_  
Daja was already prying with her magic._ You won't believe what is inside_, she told them, before turning her attention back to the two dedicates.  
  
Rosethorn's jaw had dropped. "I can't believe you kept this." She ran her thumb gently over the carved roses on the lid, tracing the pattern.  
  
"I found it," Crane said dryly, after clearing his throat in a suspicious manner, "after you had left. I didn't think you'd be pleased to see it again. I also happened to desire a reconciliation between us, in light of the impending doom we seem to be facing."  
  
She was turning the box over and over in her hands. "I'll pick at you about this," she told him, a slightly acerbic tone in her voice again, "after we finish our work." Crane looked almost hurt, until Rosethorn twitched her head at the clump of merry daisies that had grown around the glasshouse.  
  
Briar quickly withdrew his magic, but he knew it was too late. Rosethorn and even Crane, he believed, had already seen him.  
  
"_Your_ student," Crane reminded her.  
  
Rosethorn gave him a look of pure amusement. "As if Osprey has better manners." A hunched figure only partially hidden within the greenhouse jerked hastily out of sight, and Crane groaned. Finishing the disarming spell on the glasshouse lock, he told her, "After our work is done, I look forward to an interesting conversation with you."  
  
"It most certainly will be interesting."  
  
Then, to Daja's immense gratification, he turned to Rosethorn and offered her his arm. And she took it.  
  
  
  
Daja, though fully intrigued, nevertheless excused herself to return to the forge. Frostpine, Kirel, and Trevin were most likely wondering why she was taking so long.  
  
So, it was Sandry, Briar, and Lark who sat around the kitchen table, stunned.  
  
"Is that why they hate each other?" Sandry asked in a small voice.  
  
Lark, equally quiet, let out a little gasping sigh. "I actually don't know much about Rosie and Crane. But I am quite familiar with the practices of- of-"But she couldn't go on; her retrained voice quickly decayed into wild laughter.  
  
Briar just stared at Sandry and Lark, who was now pounding the table merrily with one fist. "What was that thing, anyway?" he demanded, feeling left out.  
  
Sandry, resting her face on her hands, looked rather thoughtful. "It's like a- a tradition," she tried to explain. "The carved wooden box holds jewelry, usually a ring. But Crane certainly spent a great deal on other pieces, too, judging by the size of the box."  
  
Seeing the confused expression on Briar's face, Lark fought to stop her laughter. "It's an engagement tradition," she told him, gasping for breath. "Rosethorn and Crane were going to- " Her self-control broke, and more giggling bubbled up. "Don't tell Rosie I laughed," she warned.  
  
"Won't," Briar mumbled, stunned. "But it don't make sense."  
  
"Oh, but doesn't it?" Lark replied instantly, and Sandry grinned. "It would certainly explain the vague 'falling out' that made them enemies."  
  
Lark smoothed a robe under her hands, preparing to send a thread of copper into the weave. "She's going to kill us when we get home, you know. Either that, or be intolerably cheerful. I won't make any guarantees about Rosie after today, though. She's managed to shock me far beyond anything I've expected."  
  
He sighed. "I guess it will take getting used to."  
  
"No kidding," Sandry and Lark said in unison.


	6. What Tris Saw

I'm awfully sorry I haven't updated this story in so long. I'm currently enthralled by my other story "Redemption," which I compel you to read. I can't help thinking of that one more, even though I started this story first.

By the way, I hope the format of this chapter doesn't annoy you too much. I was too lazy to figure out an easier way to portray the mayhem of having only one speaking-stone between Niko and Tris. I mean, just imagine that.

----------------------------------

Daja was completely annoyed, but Dedicate Skyfire had insisted that Trevin be removed temporarily from her services. She hadn't even known the boy to be the nephew of the famous ex-General, which just might have tempered her discontent slightly, except for the fact that Daja would have to periodically heat, oil, and shift the wire _herself_ while simultaneously etching her magical runes.

Which was all minorly infuriating compared to Moonstream's acquisition of Frostpine.

"They _can't_ take you right now!" Daja complained, forgetting that she was almost sixteen years old. "Lark and Sandry sent in an order for more copper and iron- seven bundles each! I'm not doing it all by myself," she warned him.

The young Fire-dedicate sent to fetch Frostpine, despite being heavily armored and fitted with a Sandry-made robe, blanched slightly as Daja shook a warning finger at him. Frostpine merely laughed.

"Erm," the Fire-dedicate said.

Daja glared at him. "Ok," she said, sighing. "I can see why they want Frostpine. But can't I at least have my slave boy?" Trevin stuck his tongue out at Daja from the doorway where he was leaning, and she sneered cheerfully at him.

"Slave boy," Frostpine said, "can flame an enemy out of a saddle while standing blindfolded fifty lengths away. It's no wonder Skyfire wants him around- just in case."

"You don't have to remind me," Daja said lightly, hands on her hips. "I _know_ he's that good." Trevin turned as red as a hot iron. "Fine, fine," she said, flapping her hand at the two males in a gesture quite reminiscent of Sandry.

"Now that we have your approval," the Fire-dedicate murmured.

--------

"Now?!" Briar exclaimed. "Rosethorn, give a guy some time to get ready!" Rose geranium paste was smeared over his hands, and he was clutching a piece of clean muslin filled with the goo while clear oil dripped from the cloth into a bowl.

"Honestly, Rosie," Lark said almost incoherently, a piece of wire stuck in the corner of her mouth. "You chould have told him before he started straining oil."

Rosethorn glared a little, but she knew Lark was right. "Fine. But I'm telling you now. We're going to the East Gate. You too, Lark." A muffled sigh came from the direction of the older Dedicate.

Abandoning the paste, Briar dipped his hands in a bucket of water, scrubbing at the oil with a bar of lemon-scented soap. "Why?"

"We're going to plant some weeds. Now get your robe from Sandry and – boy, put on some shoes."

"T's summer, don't need no shoes," he mumbled, obeying.

Lark was murmuring in Sandry's ear, a warm hand on her shoulder. Whatever was being said, Sandry smiled wanly and agreed before rummaging through the piles of undyed wire-ridden cloth.

Sandry emerged from behind a particularly tall stack of folded robes. "Here," she said, holding out two robes that gleamed so fiercely with magic that Briar had to shield his eyes with his hands. "We made these ones special for you two."

"Cripes, Sandry, what did you do, _dip_ them in oil?"

Sandry and Lark looked at each other. "Not exactly." Upon closer inspection, Briar realized the cloth practically bristled with strands of wire, almost to the point of stiffness. "Maybe we were a bit ... biased," Lark said ruefully. "I know there are some who wouldn't appreciate unfavorable comparisons between their robes and – these."

Briar watched as Sandry laid one hand gingerly on the hem of his robe, extending the web of her magic through the cloth. The pattern almost flickered, and suddenly most of the wires seemingly disappeared.

"Camouflage," she told them, as she did Rosethorn's.

The robes, now quite ordinary, fit them perfectly. Sandry handed one more to Rosethorn, folded neatly and shining just as strongly. "For Dedicate Crane," Lark reminded her.

"Yes," Rosethorn replied tersely, and even Princess Sandry, who had worked hard to keep a straight face, had to hide a smile behind a discreet hand.

----------

Tris sighed gustily, before realizing that doing so would cause a gale strong enough to knock down a tree. Luckily, the grassland she was currently canvassing for villains didn't support anything taller than a bush.

The past three days had been mind-numbingly boring, thought Tris, deliberately keeping her thoughts from spreading to mindspeech. She knew that Daja was exhausted from working her wire night and day, and that Briar and Sandry were now furiously grinding protective oils in the kitchen.

Midsummer had come and passed, with wistful conversations with her three friends in Discipline. When she had a moment to clear her eyes of endless, empty landscapes, she checked in with the Circle only to find them doing boring, albeit important, work.

Just like her.

If Tris wanted to be amused, she knew she wouldn't find it in a metal-mad mage girl making wire, or in a thread-mad but wire-inclined stitch witch.

Briar, on the other hand, had free moments to chat more than the other two. However, his thoughts were too laced with images of Sandry to be of interest to Tris- at least at the moment. Tris might have given almost anything to be at Discipline to tease the obviously infatuated boy.

"Niko?" she called hopefully.

A sharp reply from the man quelled her optimism. "Stop asking. Working from a moving cart would be even worse than our delay, _Trisana_."

Wagons, even spelled ones that would remain splinter-free and relatively level, were enough to test Niko's temper. "All right," she said, dejected, and sent her winds out for one more spin in the Easterly direction.

Borrowing knowledge her friends had given her, she swept the plains for signs of human enemies. Passing over a village, Tris could smell worked iron and stitched cloth, as well as the ordered pattern of cultivated plants.

Niko had been right to camp, she thought. There were enemies who would crush a village without a second thought just to destroy her famous teacher. Even though most villages Tris had visited were definitely not perfectly peaceful havens, they were preferable to the images of war-instruments Daja had drawn in her mind.

Until she came to her first burned-out site, far South and East from where Tris was standing.

Metal was bad enough when it was manipulated into long, sharp swords and armor-piercing arrows. But the effects of these weapons were far worse than Tris had expected. She steeled herself for the stench of dead, decaying bodies.

Except this village had been empty when it was attacked. Evacuated to the nearest Temple. Which could only mean ... Tris hastily checked the position of her winds and felt a cold sweat begin to bead on her forehead.

"Niko?" Tris called, nearly choking on the smoke she was certain she could still smell. "Niko!"

---------

Moonstream had barely snatched the seeing-stone from the pocket of her robes before she started speaking rapidly. "Niko? Niko, are you there?"

The tinny voice babbled on. "They've already evacuated what we think is Haypost and Barstone. If some kind of force has already hit the empty villages-

A second voice emerged, provoking a startled protest from Niko. "They burned _hours_ ago. I can only assume they are heading toward Winding Circle as scouts."

"Assuming is not good enough, Tris." Niko, apparently, had wrenched the stone back from his student's hand. "Moonstream, are you there?"

Tris was shouting to be heard over the stone. "Niko, I _don't_ assume. After I found the villages, I checked the surrounding areas and found a small disturbance. A shield designed to cover, say, a group of seven to nine people on horseback. Which means a scouting crew."

"If they were scouting, why did they burn the village?"

"Poor planning, sheer hostility- Niko, how am _I_ supposed to know?"

Ignoring the intellectual bickering, Moonstream leaped over her chair and out the door of the Hub. To the amazement of the young novices and refugees setting up tents in the courtyard, she sprinted toward the East Gate, snagging several heavily armed Dedicates on the way.

Niko now had hold of the stone. Shifting the stone to her right hand without missing a step, Moonstream heard Niko's warning: "Tris has detected a small scout force nearing the East Gate of Winding Circle. They're surrounded by an invisibility spell, and not much else, which either means the approaching mages are weak or holding back."

"No shielding spells up yet," Tris supplied. "Though they'll certainly use them later."

"How concealed are the preparations we discussed?" Niko asked anxiously. "I don't want us to show these patrols more than we need."

Moonstream's hand was on the Gate, and the guards posted outside the metal fixtures didn't hesitate to open the locks. One of them tossed her a heavily spelled robe, which she put on hastily. "Not concealed at all. Niko, they just went out the East Gate." She didn't bother hiding the panic in her voice.

Niko's answer was bleak. "Gods bless us."

"Who? Who is out there?" Tris yelled.

"Skyfire, Rosethorn, Lark, Crane, that Briar Moss, Skyfire's nephew, and some odd Fire warriors."

Tris moaned in the background as Niko began to mutter arrangements to Moonstream.


End file.
